Il Divo (Il divo: La spettacolare vita di Giulio Andreotti)

 

Director Paolo Sorrentino

IL DIVO (Il divo: La spettacolare vita di Giulio Andreotti)                B+                                  aka:  The Extraordinary Life of Giulio Andreotti                                                                          Italy  France  (117 mi)  2008  ‘Scope  d: Paolo Sorrentino                      

Winner of the Jury Prize (3rd place) at Cannes, this is a whirlwind of political intrigue, where nearly all of the specifics are lost to the viewer, yet it hardly matters at all, as this as one stylishly clever adaptation of the current Italian political scene where the center of attention is Toni Servillo’s weird but delightfully captivating screen portrayal of the uncharismatic Giulio Andreotti, a mousy postwar political mastermind who served in the Italian General Assembly for over forty years, appointed Senator for life, and on three different occasions in the 70’s, 80’s and 90’s, elected as the Italian Prime Minister, yet was charged and accused of the murder of a journalist and with having mafia connections, charges that were eventually dropped, then sustained in appeal, and then overturned on another appeal and dismissed, the results of which are shown only at the very end.  From the outset, there is a glossary of important terms and organizations which pass by so quickly that it’s impossible to keep straight, with murky Masonic lodges and devious Vatican bankers, years of Red Brigades and fascist bombings, and a mafia that actually converged into the state, where the violent conflicts seemed like they would never end.  Not knowing seems to be as good a way as any in approaching this film, as it still plays out with astonishing fluidity and directorial flourish, where Sorrentino’s taut musical choices by Fauré, Sibelius, and Saint-Saens alongside original music by Teho Teardo are nothing less than brilliant.  The ease with which this man makes movies feel interesting is stunning, as this has an almost Fellini-esque, carnival-like atmosphere yet the sour looks on people’s faces show the deadly serious nature of their business, shot in the darkened corners of immense corridors of power where humans are dwarfed by the grandiosity of the ancient architecture that all but engulfs them.  Andreotti’s repressive state of mind is so total and so complete that it resembles JULIET OF THE SPIRITS (1965), not in the phantasmagorical dream surrealism, but it mixes fabricated dreams of the protagonist with scenes of murder, orgy, and the mafiosi, entrenched in the impossibility of knowing the truth buried underneath his unchanging veneer of facial expression, veiled as it is in so many layers of denials and implausible explanations, each one of which might actually be partly true.  He reminds us of Everett Sloane as Arthur Bannister in Orson Welles’ LADY FROM SHANGHAI (1947), especially the scene as the defense attorney in court when he cross-examines himself on the witness stand.  What is anyone to make of this?  Not just a biography, but a study of power, as Il Divo was the nickname of Julius Caesar, featuring a climactic “confession” sequence where Andreotti, alone in his house, has a sudden outburst.  Shrouded in darkness, sitting in a chair facing the audience, it appears he is under interrogation, but never looks at the camera, instead seems to be talking to his wife, starting in a quiet whisper, but slowly raises his voice, speaking with personal conviction, expressed with strong religious overtones, ultimately calling upon God and his conscience in what resembles a Catholic confessional, claiming every evil act he committed was inspired by a greater good, a scene that very clearly connects religion to politics, calling into question the violence that maintains the state, Il Divo (2008) | The Confession Scene | Eng Subtitles YouTube (2:17).  Andreotti justifies homicides and other acts of violence not as a means to consolidate personal power, but to carry out a divine mandate, as if he were on a mission from God, much like the religious wars stirred up by the Crusades in medieval times, carrying out bloody, violent, and often ruthless conflicts at the behest of the Catholic Church. 

While this is an extraordinarily sinister portrait of Andreotti, what this really resembles is an Italian version of THE GODFATHER (1972) shot by someone other than Francis Ford Coppola, as this is simply another brilliantly expressed version of the same thing, only set in Italy instead of the United States.  What immediately strikes viewers is how the leading character is so morbidly lifeless, lacking all the attributes of a leading man, older, less imposing, completely asexual, striking no fear in the hearts of anyone.  If anything, he fits the Max Schreck profile for Murnau’s NOSFERATU (1922), a shadowy vampire figure who is weakened by sunlight.  Toni Servillo, on the other hand, is running on all cylinders, exaggerated to the point of being grotesque, looking monstrous with his big glasses and impassive demeanor, almost robot-like in his rigidly, mechanical movement, as he’s a creepily queer, brainy, oddball character who is an insomniac, having never kissed his mother, has a personal acquaintance with half a dozen popes, attends mass every morning, rips out the page in murder mysteries that reveals whodunit, and surrounds himself with a fully armed militia, yet is also seen with younger, more energized people who are seen dancing crazily as if in the 60’s, a video camera veering through the crowd, yet he sits quietly with his loyal wife (Anna Bonaiuto).  When someone asks him if he’d like to dance, he responds that in politics, he’s been dancing all his life.  The film is full of cryptic answers and responses like that, some hilarious, almost all of them witty, as apparently this is the guy who knows where all the dead bodies in Italian politics are buried.  Like early Godard films, as each new character is introduced, colorful titles fill the screen identifying them by their name and nickname, organization, and other biographical information, usually to humorous ends, such as the violent manner of their death.  The men that surround Andreotti are enormous-sized behemoths exuding menace, secrecy, and brutality, all stereotyped heavies looking like a bunch of criminals.  The film actually traces several decades of Italian history, including the 1978 kidnapping and eventual murder of then Prime Minister Aldo Moro (the president of Andreotti’s own Christian Democracy Party), which could have been by either the communists or the mafia, where we see many men come to violent unpleasant ends, including a barrage of mysterious killings shown in a dizzying fashion, all somehow linked to Andreotti, directly or indirectly, from 1969 to 1984, aka the Years of Lead, when precisely 236 people were killed and 817 left injured in a series of notorious attacks from both left and right-wing terrorism, yet the film doesn’t dwell in details, instead it enlarges Andreotti’s cold demeanor and operatic world, much of it shown in brief flashbacks with the verve and panache of the director’s unbridled energy in satirizing much of this, almost in comic caricature fashion.  It’s clear he dealt with some bad men, where in trial sequences witness after witness point him out as their mafia connection, but he’s equally at home with the hierarchy of the Catholic Church, where on one occasion he had the nerve to tell a Pope, “Your Holiness, forgive me, but you don’t know the Vatican like I do.”  This is about more than a depiction of a political figure, as he is also a symbol of the Christian Democracy Party with strong ties to the Vatican and the Catholic Church that ruled Italy nonstop from the end of WWII to the early 1990’s, profiling a guy who loves spending time alone writing his memoirs in his own hand-written archives, personal records he’s kept about his meetings, appointments, and dirty dealings with everyone he’s ever done business with, all in a lifelong pursuit to remain in power.  In the past 70 years, from postwar Italy until the end of the Cold War, the Church has identified the advance of communism as the primary enemy, consistently viewed as the ultimate Evil.  With this film, Sorrentino is questioning whether doing Evil is necessary for the triumph of Good, particularly when that vehement hatred of Evil (communism) led to a political party, in association with the Catholic Church, aligning themselves with the mafia to eradicate that threat.           

Born out of the distinctive political styles of prominent Italian film directors like Francesco Rosi and Luchinio Visconti, whose films are characterized by a very realistic, almost documentary-like stylistic approach, while Elio Petri, on the other hand, veered in an opposite direction, known for a grotesque, often hallucinatory style.  Two films raised public awareness on the kidnapping of Aldo Moro, Marco Bellocchio’s GOOD MORNING, NIGHT (2003) and Renzo Martinelli’s FIVE MOONS PLAZA (2003), both playing an important part of Italian culture, offering reconstructions of political killings and terrorist acts that may challenge the official police versions.  Matteo Garrone’s ultra-realistic crime drama GOMORRAH (2008) and Sorrentino’s film were both released the same year, mixing historical documentation with a flamboyant visual style, including a hyperactive presence of the camera, showing a preference for the long shot and plenty of fluid camera movement.  While this film is an exposé on Andreotti’s controversial political career, it is also a reflection on power, told in Sorrentino’s distinctive style, dazzling edits with a free-wheeling camera by Luca Bigazzi using a variety of shots from all angles, yet this is clearly a darker subject matter, as he’s capturing an impressionistic, behind the scenes glimpse of a shady, unprincipled man who may be the most influential Italian in the last 50 years co-existing right alongside a violent underground mafia movement that interacts freely within the normal political framework of government.  Add to this anti-communist radicals inside and outside Italy, alliances that taint nearly every aspect of social progress, as political assassinations are commonplace, from bankers to judges to elected officials, where arrested witnesses are notorious for remaining silent on his behalf.  How does one ascertain the truth in this kind of disfigured mythological landscape, where what we see onscreen only supposes what might have really happened?  Embodied by the Red Brigades, one of several left-wing terrorist organizations, they were ultra-Marxist, the most radical of the radical, viewing communists as their declared enemy.  Aldo Moro’s kidnapping occurred when he was on his way to broker an unprecedented alliance between the Christian Democrats and the Communist Party, yet his assassination by the Red Brigades closed off that possibility.  The fact remains the Christian Democrats did nothing to help free Moro, with Sorrentino’s film dramatizing Andreotti’s moral responsibility for a multitude of crimes while avoiding any direct accusation.  Speculation has swirled around Andreotti as to his degree of involvement in Moro’s death, with the film certainly accentuating a perception that he felt tragically guilty over the affair long afterwards, with blood on his hands, as he consistently refused to negotiate with terrorists, effectively sealing Moro’s fate.  The impression left was that Moro was sacrificed to preserve political stability.  What we do know is where this all leads to, as the failed practices of this corrupt government led us to the oily practices of yet another perhaps even more corrupt government led by Italian television billionaire Silvio Berlusconi (the longest serving leader of a G-8 country), whose three national television channels comprise half the nation’s viewing audience.  But the film barely casts a nod in his direction, instead relishing the time spent with a deftly underplayed Andreotti and his band of merry men, all of whom eventually desert him or are killed, a man, surprisingly enough, who will have the thrill of watching this movie portrayal of his life while he’s still alive to see it.  One would think he would be amused, though his actual response, “I don’t agree with Sorrentino’s portrayal of me, but I understand he had to make certain dramatic choices to make it interesting; my real life is actually quite boring.”  A meticulously researched work that can be exhilarating and oddly captivating, as it seems to elevate Italian politics to an unending series of Mephistopheles deals with the devil.  Viewed as some sinister, Machiavellian embodiment of power, all that’s missing in this illustrious Andreotti portrait is a three-pronged trident in his hand.      

Youth

YOUTH                      B                                            

Italy  France  Great Britain  Switzerland  (119 mi)  2015  ‘Scope  

d:  Paolo Sorrentino                    Pathé [France]          

Only Sorrentino’s second film in English, after the oddly compelling use of Sean Penn in This Must Be the Place (2011), where the title suggests one thing, while the subject of the film is diametrically opposite, as this is more of a quirky meditation on aging, featuring Michael Caine as Fred and Harvey Keitel as Mick, two longtime, near eighty-year old friends in the latter stages of their lives that one initially suspects are brothers due to their intimate familiarity, but instead they’ve known each other for 60 years.  Taking place nearly exclusively on the secluded grounds of an upscale spa for the rich and famous at the Waldhaus hotel in the Swiss Alps, the same hotel featured in the recent Olivier Assayas film, 2014 Top Ten List #3 Clouds of Sils Maria (2014), offering dazzling views of the surrounding Sils Maria countryside, this is the first Sorrentino film where the superficiality of the subject matter simply doesn’t live up to the whirlwind cinematography from Luca Bigazzi, who is among the best in the business, normally elevating this director’s films into rarified air.  While it’s something of a delight throughout, often lighthearted and humorous, this film is arguably the lightest and least successful in the director’s career, becoming more of a scattershot virtuoso film where much of its power is diluted from attempting to cover so much territory, where it is entertaining throughout, though it borders on spectacle.  Opening with the très chic sounds of The Retrosettes, a retro band from Manchester, You Got The Love by The Retrosettes - SoundCloud (3:20), where the female singer may as well be spewing her message on a rotating platform coming from the middle of a bonafide “fountain of youth,” the song jumpstarts the film with an adrenal rush that in every respect is equivalent to a thoroughbred breaking out of the gate at a racetrack.  The problem is sustaining the pace all the way through till the end.  While there are heady moments, and more than a few pleasant surprises in store, it’s hard to say this film has any lasting power, as there’s really not much of a developing story, feeling more like a series of vignettes strung together creating an impressionistic mosaic, where there are few entry points into the lives of the characters portrayed.  Certainly part of the problem is the exclusivity of the place itself, catering to power and privilege, where most will never spend a minute of their lives in a swanky place like this. 

Fred is a retired symphonic conductor spending most of his days being oiled and massaged, where he is pampered and catered to by kids that barely look out of their teens.  Having lost his wife some time ago, he’s acutely aware that he’s in the latter stages of his life, with little to actually look forward to, instead harping on certain incidents from his past that crop up from time to time.  Mick, on the other hand, has a core of young writers trying to help him finish off a screenplay entitled Life’s Last Day, the summation of his life’s work as a film director.  They come off a bit like a Laurel & Hardy act, with Keitel in the role of Laurel handing out the straight lines while Michael Caine relishes playing the more pompous Hardy, where both can be seen walking the massive grounds of the place together, where their pace is a near crawl, holding cryptic conversations about their prostrates and other physical ailments, though their womanizing eyes still rove to the ladies just as much as when they were pubescent teenage boys on the prowl.  Joining them is a young American actor Jimmy Tree (Paul Dano), who seemingly has no business being there, as the place is crawling with people two and three times his age, but he enjoys the seclusion as he prepares for a new role.  In a celebratory moment, Fred’s grown daughter Lena (Rachel Weisz) is heading out on a Pacific holiday with her fiancé, Mick’s son Julian (Ed Stoppard), where for a brief moment the past and the present intersect, with both men reliving the exuberance of their lives through the romantic affairs of their children.  Also entering the picture is an emissary from the Queen, a very squirrely Alex Macqueen, who is sent on a mission to invite Fred to come out of retirement for a gala concert performance of his most celebrated composition “Simple Songs” in London before the royal family in exchange for knighthood.  Despite the honor, Fred refuses for personal reasons, and despite repeated pleas, the emissary leaves dejected and thoroughly disappointed, as the Queen does not like to receive bad news.  In short order, Lena is back as well, having been unceremoniously dumped for a pop celebrity, none other than Paloma Faith playing herself, where both men find Julian’s conduct appalling (in his defense, Julian claims Paloma is a wonder in bed), where Mick even sides with Fred on this one, giving his son a thorough tongue lashing for his selfish display of male arrogance and bad taste. 

Rachel Weisz, who also acts as her father’s personal assistant, is easily the best thing in the film, as she’s a smart, vulnerable and relatable character who shows some imagination and verve, who doesn’t pout about her circumstances, but instead rails against her father for his rude and neglectful treatment of his own children, as he was never emotionally accessible, always on the road traveling with the symphony, while at home she was forever being shushed and instructed to “be quiet” while Daddy was busy at work composing music, locked away in a room somewhere that was completely off limits.  The beauty of this scathing monologue is that it is conducted while both are receiving side by side massages, where there is literally nothing he can do about it, where he’s forced to endure the full brunt of every blistering word.  Sorrentino is the closest thing to Fellini working today, where it wouldn’t be one of his signature films without a myriad of oddball side characters that continually keep popping up on the screen, like the gargantuan Diego Maradona soccer player with a full-sized tattoo of Karl Marx on his back who has ballooned up to over 400 pounds, who swims a length of the pool and stops, thoroughly exhausted, or a brief, poignant scene of a young masseuse seen dancing alone in her room showing surprising dexterity and ballet-like grace, or the stunning arrival of Miss Universe (Madalina Diana Ghenea), the object of Fred’s daydreams even before she confidently takes a dip utterly naked in the wading pool with the eyes of two drooling men staring at her.  It’s, of course, a picture of what they’re missing, a part of their pasts that can never be regained, but can only be summoned in wish fulfillment daydreams (activate the trashy music video).  There’s even an all-too-brief appearance by Jane Fonda as Mick’s gutty actress Brenda Morel, the star of all his successful pictures, who is caked with so much make-up that she looks more like a campy character in drag, but she gives Mick a lacerating, no holds barred wake-up call in uncensored sailor lingo, traveling great distances to remind him face-to-face that his work has turned into “shit,” that “You’re going on 80, and like most of your colleagues, you’re getting worse with age,” declaring “Television is the future” before making a hasty retreat.  (Ironically Sorrentino is working on an 8-episode TV mini-series entitled The Young Pope co-produced by Sky Italy and HBO, expected release sometime in 2016).  While this summarily dismissive rant seems right out of some trashy soap opera, with equally melodramatic results, much of this operatic film is thoroughly intoxicating, where the music, much of it scored by American composer David Lang, couldn’t be more in synch with what’s shown onscreen, but there’s no real sense of urgency and some lingering questions whether any of this will matter or be remembered in the years to come.